Don't die on me!
by mrs. macabre
Summary: Elizabeth moves in to 221B. While working on a case with Sherlock, they begin to share feelings for each other but what happens when a killer gets jealous? Rated T because...meh?
1. Chapter 1: My saviour

Well. I'll start from the beginning. You may want to take a seat or make a cup of tea, because…well, it's a long story. It all started with me needing a new flat. Actually, it started with the mould growing up the walls and constant minus temperatures but, you know what I mean. I didn't want something too costly, somewhere I could share the rent, equally. I had been searching for months; getting nowhere fast. I had searched the papers again and again but everyone was either boring or preferred not to have female flat mates. Oh, how rude of me; my name is Elizabeth Marie Sheppard and I'm 26 years of age. So, I continued to live in the cramped, disgusting flat, relieved every time I left the place to walk to work. I worked in a café as a waitress (not incredibly interesting). In my spare time, I write. I have written two stories and I am currently on my third. Of course, no-one had ever read them, apart from me. I didn't really think them of any value; I just did it to pass the time. I am quite enthusiastic and easily inspired. I also like to draw in my spare time, but that's all you need to know at the moment.

So, where was I? Ah, yes, I was looking for a new flat but the idea was beginning to fade. I carried on with the usual routine of working at the café and doing whatever on the weekends. The first time I met him was on a Wednesday. I was running the cash register and it was getting to around six in 6 the afternoon, almost closing time. I had had a busy day, not expecting someone to walk in. He was like a ghost; I didn't even hear him come in. I was leaning forward on the counter, scribbling ideas for a new story on my order pad. I had no idea how long he was standing there and I still don't.

**~ Wednesday ~**

The rain fell from the sky, dancing around the air and sending repeating patterns down the window. The thunder let out a low growl but no lightning following. Must be a short storm, I thought, as I wiped the counter with a soggy cloth. I'm in a whole other world, ideas racing through my mind. I pulled the order pad from the pouch on my apron and began to scribble. I didn't notice the door open and continued to write on the pad. The ding of the bell on the counter was enough to give me a start and I let out a low yelp. The tall man cleared his throat and stared, sending red to my cheeks. I gathered myself and looked up. "Hello… What would you like," I tried to sound welcoming and pretended that my little episode never happened. He continued to stare at me for a second.

"Just a coffee to go, thank you," He murmured. I turned to the coffee machine, hiding my face form his gaze. I could feel his eyes burning into my back and I blushed again. Why am I so unsociable? Not thinking that I would have another costumer, I had stupidly turned the coffee machine off. Damn it…

"Sorry, the coffee machine will need some time to warm up again," His eyes narrowed and he turned away. Running a hand through his messy curls, he took a seat at one the tables near the window. I leaned against the counter again, writing on the pad and waiting for the machine to beep. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn toward me. I looked toward him, his eyes narrowing and head tilting. If the machine hadn't beeped, we would have probably been there for ever. I hurried over and stuck a waxed cardboard cup under the hot water tap on the machine. I hit the button the start it, not realising I still had my hand on the cup, the hot water poured out, catching the side of my hand. I jumped away and placed a hand over the burn, covering it as it reddens. Before I knew it the mystery man took hold of my injured hand and gently pulled me towards the sink. He ran the cold water and shoved it under the tap. He went round the back and returned with a small frozen bag of peas from the freezer. He wrapped it up in a thin towel and walked towards me. Turning off the tap, he took my hand and placed the cold bundle on top, placing my other hand over it to indicate for me to hold it. Turning to the coffee machine, he finished making it and left some money on the counter top.

"Take a pain killer when you get home. You should try soaking the burn in a salt solution or non-fat milk; to speed up the healing. Also, apply some aloe vera gel and wrap it up in a gauze or some sort of bandage, preferably, sterilised," He said and left. I stood staring after him, totally confused at what had just happened. I lifted the towel and peered at the red mark left on my skin. It was sore and uncomfortable but I resisted scratching at it.

I turned the sign over to closed and went to the coat hanger. I grabbed my satchel and coat. I headed for the door but stopped when I noticed the weather. Great! I hadn't noticed it getting worse but the rain was plummeting down like gravity had increased. I (being stupid) had grabbed my small coat, which didn't include a hood. I decided it would be better to wait it out for a bit, even though the wind was minimal, it still wasn't a pleasant thought to have to walk in it. I went to sit at one of the tables, when I saw a small black object resting on the counter. He must have left his umbrella, I thought, thinking back to the mysterious man. It almost felt as if he had left it there on purpose… I shrugged the thought off and opened the door. He won't need it anytime soon; I might as well use it. Maybe he'll come back another day for it. I opened up the umbrella and locked the door behind me.

When I got home I shrugged my coat off carefully, trying not to catch my still sore hand. I kicked my shoes off and placed the umbrella by the door. After turning on the kettle and heating, I retrieved my first-aid kit. I put the hot water into a bowl and dissolved a tablespoon of salt in the water, allowing it to cool down. Sticking a pencil between my teeth, I soaked the solution over the burn. I bit down on the pencil hard, converting my pain into strength. When I had finished, I rubbed some antiseptic cream over it and wrapped it up in gauze. It still felt sore but I could deal with it.

It got to around nine o'clock and I was sitting at the table, once again scanning through a newspaper. All the flats were just not what I was looking. I glanced at one, catching my eye with some bold lettering.

The ad said:

One room, private. With shared; living room space, kitchen and bathroom. Rent shared between two other flat mates. For more details or an appointment call; 07700 900533

**WARNING; those with weak stomachs and/or aren't good under pressure are not suitable.**

Address:

**221b Baker Street **

**London, England**

**NW1 6XE **

How interesting… I circled it with a thick marker and stared at it. Hesitating, I thought about calling straight away but it might be too late. I decided to call and dialled the number.

"Hello?" answered a man, not sounding tired in the least.

"Hello. My name is Elizabeth Sheppard. I'm calling about the ad in the paper. Is it still on offer?" I asked, hoping not to sound too eager.

"Uh… sure… I mean, yes, of course. I'm John Watson. Shall we meet tomorrow; I can show you the flat?"

"Yes. That would be great, thank you," YES!

"I'll text you where we'll meet. It was nice talking Ms Sheppard,"

**~ Thursday ~**

I stood waiting outside the address of a café that John had sent me. I noticed a short man walk towards me, a small smile on his face. I smiled back.

"Elizabeth?" He asked.

"Please, call me Lizzie," I insisted. We walked into the café. After ordering coffees, we sat down and John explained the arrangements in the flat and about what he does for a living. He seemed un-nerved when discussing it but I insured him that I was fine with it. I mean, come on! A consulting detective?! Think of the inspiration I could get from their cases! He then started to talk about the other flat mate.

"Sherlock… Well, he's unusual. He can be… Well, he…" He struggled to find the right words.

"Doesn't play well with others?" I chuckled. John and I continued to talk, telling him about myself and what have you. He then stared down at my hand and frowned.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

"I burnt it on a coffee machine. I think I treated it well. A man was there and told me what to do." I explain.

"May I take a look? I am a doctor."

"Well, that's good. I'm quite clumsy, so, it would be good to have a doctor around," I laughed. I un-wrapped it and John scanned over the injury. He noted that I had done well to treat it and the mystery man had some good advice. We decided to leave so I could take a look at the flat and do the one thing that John dreaded the most. Meet Sherlock.

We arrived at the flat. I pulled my orange curls into a pony tail and entered. The flat was lovely. I looked around upstairs, at the room I would be renting and then John led me to the living room. I entered, taking in the whole room. There was a lovely old fireplace to my left, a sofa to my right and a table in between. The wall paper was a beautiful black floral pattern. Sitting on the chair to the right of the fireplace, was a tall man. His black curls were combed neatly but were still messy. He had high cheek bones and lovely sea foam eyes. They were so familiar.

"Oh. It's you. My saviour,"

"You burnt your hand. It wasn't fatal," Sherlock said, bluntly.

"Yes. Well, thank you. Oh, by the way, you left this," I said, handing the umbrella over. He took it, his cold hand catching my wrist.

"The rain was going to get worse by the time you left. You needed it more than I did," I don't see what John was so worried about. "How long ago did you injure your ankle?"

"A year ago. How do you do that?"

"I look and pay attention to the tiny details. You lean on you left leg but shift onto the right every so often. I was only a sprain," He explained.

"What else can you tell about?" I asked intrigued. John looked at me confused. Had I said something wrong?

"You are in your twenties. I would say…26. You think yourself unique, which you are. There aren't many ginger haired and green eyed women, naturally. You work as a waitress, whom I, of course, already know, but you don't like working there. You have red marks on your elbow and wrists were you lean while writing, you write to keep yourself entertained and use anything and everything to inspire you. You wear bright things because you don't like the dark. Not a phobia, more that you prefer to look at the positive of everything. Probably because there has been enough negativity in your past. The watch around your wrist, it's old. It was someone else's before yours, maybe a parent's. You lost a parent, in an accident. By the look of the scar on your right eyebrow, you were beaten as a child; by your… Father. He blamed you for her death; your mother's death,"

"Well done, Mr Holmes," I clapped. Both man looked shocked.

"That's not what normal people say," Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing.

"What do _normal_ people say?"

"Piss off,"

"Well, I'm not your average person, as you said, I'm unique. But you missed one thing, Mr Holmes. My mother never died in an accident. She was murdered. I'll take the flat and move in tomorrow. Goodbye, Dr Watson. Mr Holmes," I said and left the living room, leaving the two men to stand and stare after me in confusion. I was just in ear shot to hear "What?" escaped John's mouth, before I left.


	2. Chapter 2: Your Saviour

**~ Friday ~**

"Oh, I also like to play the guitar. I hope that's not a problem,"

"No. That's perfectly fine. Sherlock likes to play the violin at two am sometimes. I'm quite used to it," John smirked. I let out a low chuckle, before ascending up the stairs with a large box in my hands. John was just following behind with a smaller box of books and a stereo. He tried roping Sherlock into helping me but I told him that his help was more than enough. Soon, the room was filled with boxes and bags, my guitar leaned against the wardrobe. I thanked John for the help and insisted that I could manage to unpack by myself. I started by dusting off the old shelves and replacing the ancient blinds with my black velvet curtains. They fit perfectly against the creamy white wall. I then hung up my clothes in the wardrobe in the corner and changed the sheets on my bed and duvet. The rest of the sheets were placed into the overhead cardboard, on the wardrobe. I set my desk up with; a lamp, clock, various belongings and writing paper. Beginning to place my collection of books on the shelves, there was a small knock on the door. I turned to see Sherlock leaning against the door.

"Need any help?"

"No, I'm just about finished, actually," I explained.

"I meant with sorting the books into the correct order," He walked straight in and over next to me. He was about to take the books off, when his hand suddenly recoiled. Staring intently at the books, he hummed. I smirked at his gaze on the books and let out a low chuckle. "You seem to know what you're doing. You treat your books well," He picked one up and flicked through the pages and scanned along the spine and cover.

"Books are magic not to be played with. That's what Mother used to say…" I said, my thoughts trailing off. I remembered when I was younger; my mother would read to me for hours on end. She had one on those good reading voices; like music. That's one of the things I miss most about her...

"Your mother was very wise. Wha-," he was cut off by a buzz of his phone. He pulled it from his pocket and stared at it, his eyes narrowed for a second. Then he left without a word, just rushed off. I suppose I should get used to that. He's so… I couldn't put my finger on it but it could wait. I needed to get to work.

* * *

I returned home, from work, to find Sherlock sitting in his chair, his eyes tightly shut and hands placed just in front of his chin. He was pale and had a red smudge on his head. Oh shit…

"Oh my god, Mr Holmes… Are you alright?" He said nothing in return. "Mr Holmes?!" I raised my voice, snapping my fingers in his face. His eyes shot open and glared at me. I gave him a worried look and he shut his eyes again.

"It's Sherlock. What do you want?"

"Sherlock… Your head… You're bleeding," He didn't move, nor answer, so I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a clean unused cloth. I rinsed it under the tap for a couple seconds and squeezed it, to keep the dripping to a minimal. Hurrying back over to him, I knelt down beside him and dabbed the cloth to his bruised temple. He let out a tiny hiss as the cloth came to the wound and his eyes flashed open. He looked over to me with a questioning glare. I took hold of his hand and gently placed it upon the cloth. I smiled and straightened up. He sat for a moment, staring up at me, before closing his eyes again.

* * *

I went up to my room and changed into a pair of sweat pants and tank top. I sat at my table, taking hold of my note book. I flipped it open and began to write with great speed. The ideas just flowed out of my head and onto the paper without trouble. I got to the end of the last sentence before I broke down, salt rivers pouring out my eyes. I rest my head on the table and allowed the tears to overtake me. All of a sudden, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders and held their place. I jumped a little at the contact, but was reassured when I looked up. Sherlock's confused face stared down at me, obviously unaware of what to do. I chuckled at his puzzled expression and stood up. He must have been watching me write and then got confused when I broke down.

"I'm going to go have a shower," I said to excuse myself and he stood aside to let me past. Once again, I felt his gaze burn into my back and hurried down the stairs. I wiped the tears from the face and stalked off into the bathroom. Soon, the flat was filled with the sweet sound of a violin and I smirked to myself. Mother used to play the violin…

By the time I had finished my shower and had calmed down, the violin had stopped and the flat was dead silent. I emerged from the steamy room and tiptoed down the hallway, into the kitchen. I shoved some clothes into the washer and explored the cupboards. They were filled with petri dishes, scientific equipment and various plastic bags filled with 'God knows what'. Upon my search, I found the pain-killers and some sleeping pills. I was going to the fridge but went against my better judgment and decided not to eat. I grabbed a glass of water and headed into the living room. Scanning over Sherlock's collection of books, I spotted one so very familiar. Not a story, no, it was a large book on Mental Health. A bit macabre but it was a book my mother owned. She was a prison nurse and loved to study how criminal brains work. I had read through it many times but it never got boring. It was so interesting to try and understand how a human brain works and different factors that can affect it. I took a seat in the chair by the fireplace. I was reading through the book, about a crisis in life such as depression after the death of a partner, when I dosed off, my face lent on the book.

**-Sherlock's POV -**

After another boring encounter with Anderson, I thought best to return home, before I was to be arrested for murder. I sure no-one would blame me, he is incredibly stupid. The rain was beginning to pour and I had to rush home. I finally made it back into the stuffy warmth of my flat, relieved at the silence in the flat. John was either asleep or with the women he spent so much time with. I could never remember her name - it wasn't of importance. By the warm aroma coming from the ground floor flat, Mrs Hudson had just finished cooking a home-made lasagne. I wasn't partially fond of the Italian dish, with its layers of ragù, béchamel, Parmigiano-Reggiano, but I have just finished a case and I'm hungry. I brushed my hand through my mess of wet curls and started picking the lock. After a minute, I nudged the door open.

"Sherlock dear, you could just knock," Mrs Hudson murmured my way.

"Just wondered if I could take some of that food off your hands?" I asked, not really looking for answer, I was going to take it anyway. I grabbed a plate that was already made up and headed for the door.

"Well, if you're going to steal my food, you could at least take some up to Lizzie," Mrs Hudson said, handing me an extra plate of food. She stood staring at my confused expression.

"Who?" I asked.

"Elizabeth. The one who is renting the other room," Mrs Hudson said, hushing me out the door.

"Well, no wonder I was confused. It's just stupid to shorten people's names," What was the point?

"Maybe I should start calling you Sherly," She giggled to herself, as I shot one last glare at her before leaving the flat. I stalked off upstairs and wondered into the living room. I stood in disbelief as my eyes studied the unusual women in my chair. Did I say she could sit there? No, why would I do that? No-one sits in my chair. I placed the plates onto the table and hung my scarf and trench coat on the coat stand. As I moved closer, I noticed her clutching onto a book. My Mental Health Encyclopaedia. Well, she was either bored or enjoyed learning about the sciences of the brain. But, that doesn't mean she sits in my chair. I put my hand on her shoulder and was about to shaken her from a dream, when her head nuzzled closer to my hand, trying to absorb the warmth. As much as I hated her in my chair, I decided against waking her and draped a blanket over her.

* * *

_**So i updated this chapter because i thought it wasn't long enough. I a currently working on the next chapter and i will update a new one every week. i hope you like what i added and enjoy :) - Ms M**_


	3. Chapter 3: Introductions

_**Okay, guys I'm really sorry about the late update. The site would let me post it so ;u;**_

_**Anyway, if you have any ideas or anything you want to see happen in the story then PM me :). You can also contact me on Tumblr and follow me!**_

_**So, thanks and I hope you enjoy this chapter! - Mrs Mhttp**_

_**Tumblr; companion-of-the-hobbits-at-221b**_

* * *

**~Saturday~**

**-Elizabeth's POV-**

I awoke from a daze, immediately throwing my arm over my eyes to block out a ray of light. I moaned into my arm and tried to move my painfully arched back. Sitting up properly, I twisted my spine around and out came a pleasant click, making my back feel much better. Opening my eyes fully, I found myself sitting in the low leather chair by the fireplace. My neck also clicked as I moved it to study the room. The kitchen was a mess with scientific equipment and various glass bottles spread over the place. The fire place was surrounded by boxes, with papers and files over flowing them. I finally turned my head to the left and discovered a Sherlock sprawled across the sofa. He was still in pyjamas, his dark blue silk dressing gown wrapped around him. He had his hands in front of his chin, again, and eyes closed. So, he wasn't asleep. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement come from the hallway by the kitchen. John emerged, walking over the coffee jug and pouring some out into to two cups. He walked over, handed me the other mug and slumped down into the opposite chair.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking a sip from the warm beverage, shivering at the heat moving down my body. I yawned, rested the cup on the arm of the chair. "Morning."

"Morning Lizzie, comfortable sleep?" he questioned, looking at the blanket still wrapped around me.

"Yeah, sorry about this. I must have dozed off by accident."

"No need to apologise. But, for further notice, I wouldn't choose that chair. That's Sherlock's chair. I'm surprised he didn't wake you up, to move. He doesn't like people sitting in it," he chuckled.

"I'll try the remember that. Sorry Sherlock," I called over, trying to grab his attention.

"Don't bother he's in his mind palace. You probably won't be talking to him for a couple of hours,"

"Oh. That's a great technique, actually. I never mastered it myself, but it's interesting to know someone who has," As soon as these words poured from my mouth both men sat forward with a confused glance. John looked totally bewildered at me, his eyes questioning. Sherlock had sat up and tilted his head slightly, his sea-foam eyes narrowing in my direction. Was he studying me?

"John, I think we've ran out of milk," Sherlock spoke up for the first time. He moved over to John and ushered him out the door.

"But, I just bought some thi-" John protested, trying to turn around.

"If you could buy some more, that would be great," Sherlock interrupted. "And some other groceries would be great!" He called down the stairs and shut the door. He turned in my direction and walked over slowly. After staring for a second at 'his' chair, he reluctantly sat in the armchair opposite. I smirked at how uncomfortable he looked. He stared at me for a moment, not moving.

"Sorry, Sherlock, but, is there something you need?" I asked, after getting rather uncomfortable. He seemed the return for his trance and furrowed his eyebrows.

"I, umm… No, err, I don't think we ever had a proper introduction. I'm Sherlock Scott Holmes, the only consulting detective," He said, reaching his hand out in front of me. I took his hand into mine and gave it a shake. He had such gentle soft hand, yet a firm handshake.

"I'm Elizabeth Marie Sheppard, the waitress," I said with a giggle, Sherlock smirking at me mockery. "But you can call me Lizzie."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare shortening such a lovely name," He said with a side smile and wink.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you… William…" He gave the most confused shocked face, I had to laugh. His jaw had dropped and eyebrow furrowed together. I took and pity on the man and explained. "John thought you would really talk to me much, so he told me about you. Don't worry, I'm no stalker." I laughed, finally finishing my giggle fit.

"Yes, well. Call me Sherlock." He said with a serious tone, eyes narrowing, once again.

"Yes, sir," I mocked with a salute. I turn in the chair, so my legs hung over the edge of the arm towards the fireplace. I took another gulp of my coffee and sighed at the warmth.

"So what else did John tell you about me?" He asked. I don't really think he was much interested. I think we both felt the same way about small talk; pointless and boring.

"Well, you are they only consulting detective, as you said earlier. You have the skills to identify a person's job and lifestyle by the tiny details. You love the thrill you get from solving mysteries and crimes. You love books but don't read often. You play the violin, it helps you think. You also hate that your brain is constantly working, that's why you smoke. Obviously, not as bad as when you were younger, back when you used harsher drugs to get away from your mind…" Our eyes locked, his eyes were aflame and broken. They seemed lost. He gaze returned to the floor, as if ashamed. "I'm so sorry Sherlock… I shouldn't have gone that far…"

"It's quite alright, flatmates should know the worst about each other…" he trailed off. He stood up and smoothed out his pyjamas, before turning and disappearing into his bedroom. Just before he entered his room, he turned his head towards me and gave look. It's was like his eyes were whispering; "I'm fine!" Yet were shouting; "I'M DIEING INSIDE AND I'M SO ASHAMED!" Damn it, Elizabeth?! Why'd you go and do that?! What would Mother think? You not meant to show that side of yourself remember. People don't take too kindly to it….

About half an hour later, I was sitting in John's armchair, watching Sherlock search his mind palace. He had been sitting like it for a while and I thought best not to disturb him. So, instead of pissing him off, again, I grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil. I didn't know what to draw at first but then I thought what the heck? I began to draw Sherlock's peaceful face, trying to get accurate sizes. It didn't take long before I had all the outlines and I was shading. After another 15 minutes or so, John arrived, with a grumpy "Hey," I saw Sherlock begin to move and almost screamed at him.

"Whatever you do Sherlock, DON'T MOVE!" His eyes flashed open and sent a questioning glare. "Not a muscle, now, close your eyes again." I ordered and he obeyed. John had sat on the couch, completely confused. Eventually, his stood up and walked over to me. He stood behind and watched as I finished off the drawing.

"That's brilliant! You have an amazing talent," He whispered as I finished.

"Thank you. Okay, Sherlock, you can move now." His hands flopped down from his face and he groaned. He stretched his neck out and clicked his back, before moving around and lying across the armchair. I was like magic that he could fit his tall figure in such a small chair.

"Finally, can I at least see the drawing?" he asked, hand stretched out. I placed the drawing his hand and he sat studying it. Five minutes later, he looked over to John and his eye brows furrowed. "Where's the food?" he asked.

"I had a fight with the checkout machine…" he said, turning red.

"_You had a fight, with a checkout machine_?!" I asked, laughing.

"Sort of, it sat there and I yelled abuse at it…" I stood up and walked towards the stairs.

"It's alright, let me get dressed and I'll go buy some stuff," I said, leaving the room and going up stairs.

* * *

-Sherlock's POV-

No. Nope. Not even relevant? No. Not even remotely relevant! Nope. Nah. Nope. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!

_Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. _

Shut up!

_Sherlock doesn't know! Sherlock doesn't know! Sherlock doesn't know!_

Out of my head, I'm busy. Moriarty; not the most helpful of people, obviously. And he definitely isn't helping now. Anyway, back to the case. Wait? Oh, for fuck sake! Why do people insist on talking, I'm trying to work? Elizabeth had already occupied my chair! I heard a dismissive 'I'm sorry', which I believe to be aimed at me. I tried focussing back to my mind, assuming that John would be explaining my mind palace in a rehearsed speech.

"Oh. That's a great technique, actually. I never mastered it myself, but it's interesting to know someone who has," Elizabeth spoke clearly, almost singing it. What? I shot up, click my back in the process, my eyes locking with hers. That dark pastel green was so beautiful. Oh shut it, Sherlock! I scolded myself. She is very… I don't know? I always miss something! I have to figure her out, and John was getting in the way.

"John, I think we've ran out of milk," Motioning him towards the door. He tried to protest, but eventually gave in. You'd think that he would have learnt by now that 'milk' meant leave. Finally he left. I turn towards the mysterious women, in my chair I might add, and reluctantly sat in the opposing chair. My socializing skills went completely out the window and I sat, trying to study her.

"Sorry, Sherlock, but, is there something you need?" She said breaking the silence with her angelic voi- shut up! Oh, shit, right, I'm meant to interact, umm?

"I, umm… No, err, I don't think we ever had a proper introduction. I'm Sherlock Scott Holmes, the only consulting detective," That was a good place to start, right?

"I'm Elizabeth Marie Sheppard, the waitress, but you can call me Lizzie."

People like flattery, right? "Oh, I wouldn't dare shortening such a lovely name," And ended with a smile and a wink. I do that sometimes; I've no idea why. People seem to like it.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you… William…" I was utterly shocked by the mention of my real name. Only John and of course, my family knew it. "John thought you would really talk to me much, so he told me about you. Don't worry, I'm no stalker." She added to reassure me.

"Yes, well. Call me Sherlock." I stopped people calling me that for a reason. I wasn't about to let a complete stranger start calling me that ridiculous name.

"Yes, sir" She mocked with a salute.

"So what else did John tell you about me?" I thought it was best to continue interaction, but small talk was most displeasing.

"Well, you are they only consulting detective, as you said earlier. You have the skills to identify a person's job and lifestyle by the tiny details. You love the thrill you get from solving mysteries and crimes. You love books but don't read often. You play the violin, it helps you think. You also hate that your brain is constantly working, that's why you smoke. Obviously, not as bad as when you were younger, back when you used harsher drugs to get away from your mind…" I locked my eyes with her in disbelief, why would John betray me? I dropped my eyes to the floor in shame. "I'm so sorry Sherlock… I shouldn't have gone that far…"

"It's quite alright; flatmates should know the worst about each other…" I decided to retreat to room. I needed to think. I stood, smoothing out my pyjamas, and turned, walking to my bedroom. I could feel her eyes piercing my back with disappointment. I gave her a quick reassuring look, before entering my bedroom and closing the door softly.

It had been about half an hour of trying to figure out Elizabeth, what made her so interesting. I decided to return to the living room, and sit back in my chair. I put my hand in front of my face and entered my mind palace, before Elizabeth could try to apologise. I began to here to scratch of a pencil and assumed Elizabeth had started drawing out of bored. Soon enough, I was dragged out of deep darkness in my mind palace by the return of John. I was about to move when Elizabeth almost shouted at me.

"Whatever you do Sherlock, DON'T MOVE!" I opened my eyes and was about to ask her what was happening. Another break in? "Not a muscle, now, close your eyes again." After realizing she was drawing me, I obeyed. You can't rush perfection. Subconsciously smirking, I began to ponder upon the wonders of drawing. Such… dedication? "Thank you. Okay, Sherlock, you can move now." Elizabeth finally murmured, allowing me to drop my hands, click my back and sprawl across my armchair. After getting comfy, I stretched my hand out towards her, gesturing for her to place the drawing into it.

"Finally, can I at least see the drawing?" She reached over to hand it to me, my hand catching her cold, numb fingers. I sent her a worrying look before studying the paper. I analysed each and every curve, each and every shade, each tiny detail… She portrayed such beauty into such a simple face. After pondering on the artwork, I turn my gaze to John. I furrowed my eyebrows towards his direction and frowned. "Where's the food?" I asked.

"I had a fight with the checkout machine…" He murmured, blood rising to his cheeks.

"_You had a fight, with a checkout machine_?!" Elizabeth cackled out with a wonderful laugh. It was one of those harmonious laughs that you couldn't help but smile at. Cute? No. Shut it Sherlock.

"Sort of, it sat there and I yelled abuse at it…" Elizabeth rose from her chair, still cackling away.

"It's alright, let me get dressed and I'll go buy some stuff," she said, walking towards the stairs. When she had finally out of earshot distance, I turned my attention towards my one friend (or so I thought). John had betrayed my, given away vital information, in which could show others my weaknesses. Why?

"Now, I would like to discuss a delicate matter, hopefully you can keep up," I informed him.

"For the last time, Sherlock, I'm not gay!"

"I'm sorry? I was referring to a conversation you had with Elizabeth…" I asked in confusion. What did I say? Does 'delicate matter' refer to sexuality? Hmmm, normal people.

"Oh. What conversation would that be?"

"The one in which you discussed me, my birth name and even my past drug use," I shouted in a whisper, controlling my anger as so Elizabeth wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

"We never discussed that. No, Sherlock, don't give me that look! I'm not to blame for your MISHAPS! NOT A WORD HAS SLIPPED FROM MY LIPS About your past with drugs!" he almost shouted but lowered his voice as a shuffle moved across the upstairs floor. I stared up intently, processing the information John had shared.

"Then how did she know…" I said, narrowing my eyes.

* * *

_**Right! I'm am so sorry that i haven't updated in so very long and that this update is so short. I've been studying for my science exams, finishing my English coursework and spending the rest of my time watching Avengers over and over again. I'm so sorry and will try to make more time for writing in the future. but for now, here it is, SHERLOCK'S POV! - Mrs M**_


	4. Chapter 4:Better to be Feared Than Loved

-Elizabeth's POV-

"So, did you have any pets as a child?" John asked. It being Sunday, I was not to go to work and neither was John. We had just finished breakfast and retreated to the living room with two cups and a pot of tea. The windows were tightly shut, keeping the winter breeze from numbing the room. The fireplace was alight, the roaring tongues flicking up the chimney.

"Yes, when I was six years old, we had an English Bulldog named Winston. I know, very British. Unfortunately, poor old Winston was born with a breathing problem, and died at two years of age,"

"I'm so sorry…"

"Quite alright, we had a good couple of years together. When it first happened, I wouldn't talk to anyone or leave my room. I read books and only came downstairs for food. After that, my parents refused to get me another pet, in the fear that I would lock myself up again (when it died). But, one day I was walking home from school, I found a tiny kitten, a beautiful grey and black one,"

"A tabby cat?" John asked.

"Yes, small little thing, it was. I didn't know why it was abandoned out there and I still don't. I just scooped it up in my arms and hurried home. My mother and I went to the vet the next day and she was as healthy as a horse. I was allowed to keep her, so long as I took care of her. I named her Jotunheim,"

"Jotunheim?"

"From a young age I always loved Norse mythology and the names that derived from it. Jotunheim was the home of the Frost Giants, one of the nine realms. It's a long story, but I just loved the name. But, one day, she just left, never saw her after that," I finished explaining as Sherlock dropped a large, glass flask on the floor. Both mine and John's heads snapped towards his direction and the shards of crystal scattering the smooth flooring. He just stood staring at floor.

"Sherlock, mate, you alright?" John asked, turning in his chair.

No reply.

I stood from his chair, walking over to him. I tiptoed around the glass and nudged Sherlock. He swayed for a moment, then stilled. I gripped his arm and tugged on it, trying to gain his attention.

"Sherlock?" I whispered. "Sherlock, can you hear me? Are you alright?" Still, no reply. I gripped my hand into his and guided him to the living room, moving around the glass. I notice the chill that lingered on his hands and the paled skin of his face. Something happened… He whispered in my ear, just before I sat him down in his chair and wrapped a blanket around his broad shoulders. "He must got the flu" I explained to John, facing his confused face.

"The flu! Bloody hell, Sherlock. You drama queen. I thought it something was seriously wrong," John rambled.

"I don't think we have any painkillers. Do you think you could pop to the shops and get some, and maybe some sleeping pills," I said, trying to verbally motion him to the door.

"Yea, sure," He said, grabbing his jacket and jogging down the stairs. Just as the front door shut, I wrapped my arm around Sherlock's shoulders and tried to warm him up. The poor man was shaking. He's ill because he won't sleep when on a case and it's getting worst. But that wasn't the main problem, something else must have happen.

"What has happened Sherlock?"

"Nothing to worry about, just not feeling to good,"

"Sherlock, I'm going to ask this, only because it's for your safety and health. Are you still using?" He stiffened against me, his eyes meeting mine. They were so vacant.

"No, I gave up a long time ago,"

"Promise me,"

"Pardon?"

"Promise me you aren't using,"

"I vow to you that I am no longer using," He chuckled. I placed my hand on his forehead, feeling the damp heat emitting from it. He was burning up.

"How are you feeling?"

"Cold. Ill. Dead," He listed.

"John was right," I chuckled.

"About what?"

"You are a drama queen," I sent him off for a hot shower and then a rest in bed. He was reluctant to sleep; I sat on his bed with him and entertained him. For a consulting detective, he wasn't very good at Cluedo.

"IT WAS THE VICTIM HIMSELF! IT'S THE ONLY POSSIBLE EXPLANATION?!"

"It's Cluedo, Sherlock," I giggled at his aggravated tone.

"Cluedo's wrong!" He said flipping the board off the bed. I just laughed at his temper tantrum and searched for other pass times. Cards were a pointless exercise and Monopoly just sucks. I asked him if he wanted to read, but he just dismissed the idea. So, we sat on the bed, playing rock, paper, scissors. Dull…

"So, are you going to tell me what is really wrong, not just your man flu?" I said, gazing up to the sea-foam puddles that were his eyes. He looked into mine and then blinked. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, hesitating.

"Are you going to tell me what happened to your mother?" He counter-asked.

"Touché," I smirked, giggling at his confused face. "Sherlock, you don't have to tiptoe around the subject, nor do you have to worry about offending me, especially when it comes to my mother,"

"Unusual? Most-"

"I'm back!" John called, cutting off Sherlock from our conversation. "Sorry I was late; some girl fainted and I stepped into help. I picked up some painkillers and sleeping tablets" He continued, walking down the hallway to the bedroom. "I also grabbed some other medicines, while I was at it,"

"Was she okay?" I asked.

"Was who okay?"

"The girl. The one that fainted…"

"Oh, yea. She's fine. She had a low blood sugar and… Why are you two in the bedroom?"

"Sherlock needed to stay warm but wouldn't sleep. So I had to entertain him," I said sending him a smirk. I jumped off the bed, trying to balance my dead legs. "Hope you feel better," I said, ruffling Sherlock's curls as if he were a child. "I shall let you tend to your patient in peace, Doctor. Good day, Boys" I left the room, and skipped to the kitchen. I turned on the kettle and placed a tea bag in my favourite owl mug. I sat in an armchair by the fireplace and waited for the kettle to finish boiling. In the corner of my eye, Sherlock's violin was staring at me, begging me to play. The glossy maple and spruce surface shined stunningly. I hadn't played in so very long and the temptation was strong. Mother had taught me at a young age and I continued to play. That is until she died. The kettle began to whistle, retracting me from my trance. I stood and made my tea, contemplating, well….everything.

The afternoon rolled by in no time and Sherlock was feeling well enough to return to the living room. Once again, I had to be reminded and removed from his armchair to the other. John had left to see an old mate at the pub, so it was just me and Sherlock in silence. I was sitting comfortably, wrapped up in my blanket, reading my favourite book; The Hobbit. I love the story and Bilbo oddly reminded me of John; short, sweet and adventurous. Sherlock, opposite, was also wrapped up in a blanket and was playing his violin. I wanted to snatch it from his delicate hands and show him how a real person plays. I could always go upstairs and play my keyboard, but I'm much too comfortable.

"Most unusual, indeed" Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

"What would that be?" I asked.

"You," He said, shifting his eyes to look at mine.

"I am but an ordinary person, Sherlock. Nothing of fascination," I stated.

"Oh but that isn't true. You are far from ordinary," He said, as if excited, jumping from his chair to kneel in front of mine. He hands gripped to the arms of the chair and he leaned in, his eyes studying mine. "Who are you?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?" I said, quoting another of my favourite books. He smirked, leaning closer.

"What happened to your Mother?" He said, as if genuine interest and concern was his reason for asking.

"She was murdered,"

"By who?"

"I supposed 'it is better to be feared than loved', right?" I murmured gazing back into his eyes.

"oh… You"

"Me,"

* * *

_**WHOA...dat plot twist tho?! So, yea. I have planned this idea since i thought 'whoa, what if Sherlock fell in love with a murderer' especially the murderer of her own mother! i have a week of school for half term, so i might be updating a lot more. I hope you enough joy! - Mrs M**_


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